


You've Got Your Headphones On

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Mutual pining), Deception, Kate Argent Warning, M/M, Stalker Kate, Stalkerish Stiles, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Stiles rides the train with the most beautiful man in all of New York and decides he has to know him better, so he invents a lie (much to the chagrin of his roommate and friend Scott). The lie works, but Stiles is disturbed to find that Derek already has another stalker, and this one doesn’t seem content just to stare at Derek’s pretty face.





	You've Got Your Headphones On

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Imogen Heap's song Goodnight and Go

~ * ~

The first time Stiles laid eyes on him—the most beautiful man in all of New York City, with his artfully sculpted stubble, his strong jaw line, his fluctuating ocean eyes—he fell in love.

(“I’m going to marry him,” he declared to Scott over _tacos grandes_ and beer. Scott, the traitor, laughed at him.)

Over the next two weeks, Stiles progressively, strategically moved closer to the beautiful man’s seat—because of course they rode the same train line. Stiles had looked, but Beautiful Man (B.M. for short—“No, Scott, not bowel movement, ew.”) did not get off at Stiles’ workplace stop. He was always on the 6 before Stiles too.

Now, Stiles would ask where B.M. worked, but he always had these giant headphones pulled over his ears, a semi-permanent scowl marring his otherwise truly beautiful features.

Stiles had spent days obsessing over what B.M. listened to with his pretentious headphones, only to accidentally be inundated with a preppy pop song he did not recognize when some asshole accidentally/on purpose unplugged B.M.’s jack. B.M. spent the rest of that ride an alarmingly attractive shade of crimson.

(“I’m still going to marry him,” Stiles told Scott over reheated pizzas after relating the story. “He needs a gold ring,” he continued, dreamily.

“Does he know you’re going to marry him?” Scott asked, the absolute traitor.)

Of course, B.M. never acknowledged Stiles even when he sat next to him. Stiles was content to watch B.M. from this close, reading his texts surreptitiously as B.M. received them.

During his espionage (“creeping” as Scott called it _)_ , he learned that B.M.’s real name was Derek.

(“A name fit for a king,” he told Scott, who only sighed and popped the tab on another beer.)

Derek had six contacts in his phone, and all of them took turns texting him on the way to and from work (or wherever it was that Derek spent his days at). Derek rarely responded, least of all to the one called “Supreme Overlord.”

Over the next week and a half, Stiles learned that Derek was terribly shy, blushing after reading some of Supreme Overlord’s most risqué texts or after another contact, Younger and Wiser Than You, implied that he was out getting some tail. Less frequently, Peter, boring name really, would send Derek reminders to stop in and say hi sometimes. Peter usually elicited the response of “Fuck you,” from Derek although he never sent it as far as Stiles observed.

(“Ain’t no one tell my man what he needs to do,” Stiles bragged over green beans and buttered toast. Scott just sighed and hit his face with an open hand.)

Somehow in all this moving closer and learning things about Derek, Stiles had failed to do one very important part of human interaction: actually have a conversation with the object of his affection. (Obsession, Scott was fond of correcting him.)

Stiles did not let that little fact keep him from planning their wedding. (“Fall. Autumn is so Derek’s color.”) and their first date (“That new _Thai_ place. It’s perfect. Derek will love it.”

Scott scratched his head and asked, “Do you even know if he likes _Thai_?”).

~ * ~

Another week (singular this time) passed before Stiles was able to invent the perfect scheme to get the words flowing between Derek and himself. Derek, Stiles had noted, was a kind soul, quick to offer his couch to those down on their luck in his tiny social group.

“Fumigation,” Stiles said the moment he claimed the seat next to Derek, cursing the over-large headphones already firmly on Derek’s head. He shoved his messenger under the seat by his feet, glad to have another day done even if Derek ignored him. Again.

To his delighted surprise, Derek lifted the left cup off his ear and leaned closer to him. “Pardon?”

“Fumigation,” Stiles repeated. “That is to say, my apartment is being fumigated and I need a place to stay while that happens.”

Derek frowned at him. “Don’t you have friends you could ask?”

“No,” Stiles said, straight-faced.

“You could get a hotel,” Derek suggested. It might just have been the noise of the other riders, but it almost sounded like Derek was mad.

Now was usually when Stiles would back off, but the furrow that appeared between Derek’s expressive eyebrows only made him want to kiss Derek (which was not a new feeling, to be sure).

“I don’t understand,” Derek said. “Do you want me to offer to put you up for the week it takes for fumigating? Or did you want me to suggest alternative housing?”

The appropriate response would be to apologize and move on, find another beautiful person and fall in love with them.

Instead, Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” Derek asked. “The first thing or the second?”

“The first,” Stiles replied. Derek’s confusion was adorable. Stiles had a brief moment of panic where he thought Derek would get up and move away. For a minute, it looked as if Derek would do that anyway before he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine,” Derek said. “I have a spare couch. You can stay with me while your place is getting fumigated. Do you need to swing by your place to get some clothes or something?”

Stiles did not trust his voice not to break—holy shit! His scheme actually worked!—when he answered Derek’s innocent question. Instead, he nodded.

“Is tomorrow okay?” Derek asked. “Or, when is your apartment being fumigated? I figured since you asked a literal stranger, you must be getting desperate.”

“Yes! That’s it exactly!” Desperate was Stiles’ middle name, especially according to Scott (the traitor). “It’s being fumigated the day after tomorrow.” He had a flash of guilt—his Scott-voice he liked to call it—and leaned closer to Derek (not to smell his amazing cologne, although that was a perk) and asked, “Are you sure you want to put me up for a week?”

Derek didn’t look sure when he said, “Yes.” Then he added, “Just give me the number of someone who knows you so that I can get a reference. I’d like to not be murdered in the middle of my good deed for the year.”

“You only do one good deed a year?” Stiles asked. Which, that was a total lie on Derek’s part. Derek was beautiful inside and out.

Derek’s face did something that looked like incredulity but could have been amusement before he smiled, showing off his sharp cuspids and enlarged front teeth, like a little were-bunny.

“The hell is a were-bunny?” Derek asked.

Stiles blushed. Usually he had better control and didn’t say what he was thinking, no matter how tempting.

“It’s a, y’know, man-bunny-thing that is a slave to the phases of the moon.”

“A man-bunny-thing?” Derek repeated, amused.

“Exactly,” Stiles exclaimed. “Like a werewolf, except bunny.”

Derek’s almost-smile faded away leaving Stiles wishing he would smile for real. He’d be so pretty flashing those adorable teeth.

“Are you making fun of me?” Derek asked seriously. He covered his mouth to hide his teeth. Stiles did not melt into a puddle at Derek’s insecurities but it was a near thing.

“No,” he hurried to assure him. “I like your teeth. They fit your mouth.”

Derek gave him a tentative smile—and Stiles was _gone_. Packed his bags and moved to Derek-land. Gone like a kite cut loose from its string. Gone like Scott was going to hear about it for the next thirty-seven years before Stiles died from sheer gone-ness.

“No one’s ever said that before,” Derek said. Stiles hummed, pleasure beating warmly in his chest.

On one hand, he was mad. _No one_ bothered to tell Derek he was perfect as is? But on the other, _Stiles_ got the shy smiles and the task of convincing Derek of all his perfection.

“We should exchange numbers,” Stiles said, a flash of genius. “I mean, if you’re going to be so kind as to let me stay with you while my place is being fumigated, then we should at least have a way to contact each other that is not reliant on the New York subway system.”

“Makes sense,” Derek agreed. He unlocked his phone and handed it to Stiles.

Even Stiles had never exhibited that level of naïveté.

Stiles quickly texted himself and then Scott, explaining that this was Derek who wanted to check on Stiles as a reference.

“Hey,” Derek said suddenly. “Isn’t this your stop?”

Stiles’ head snapped up and yeah, there’s the bakery kiosk he’s usually too broke or busy to buy anything from. He shoved Derek’s phone at him, grabbed his messenger bag, and launched himself toward the doors.

He made it off with enough time to wave at Derek as the 6 pulled away from the station. Then, his phone buzzed, drawing his attention from the rapidly disappearing 6.

It was Scott congratulating him on not appearing too creepy when he finally got Derek to notice him.

Whatever.

At least Scott was still his friend. He would have to listen to Stiles talk all night about this encounter so he had better get the teasing out of the way.

Stiles tucked his phone back into his pocket after saving Derek’s number under a new contact (Stiles debated whether to put “My Husband” as the name but then decided, probably because his Scott-voice flared, that it would be too creepy especially if Derek ever managed to get a hold of Stiles’ phone).

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t text Derek unnecessarily. Scott helped. As soon as Stiles walked through the door to their apartment, Scott demanded he place his phone in the bowl with their keys and spare change. Right now, because of laundry emergencies, there were three quarters and a dime. Stiles vowed to replenish it next paycheck since most of the money used was Scott’s and he wasn’t the one who spilled barbeque sauce over his brand new work shirt.

“So you had an actual conversation with Derek today?”

“I did,” Stiles confirmed. He stepped into the kitchen and started washing his hands. It was his turn to cook tonight , so they were having spaghetti and meat sauce (mostly because Stiles had not figured out how to make the perfect meatball as of yet).

“How’d it go?” Scott asked. He was situated at the table, books and papers spread around him. Stiles frowned at him, pulling the defrosted meat from the refrigerator. Scott waved a hand at him. “I know you got his number. And he’s already called me to confirm that I couldn’t take you in during your time of need.”

Oh, shit. Found out already. Stiles patted at his chest to help ease the ache of guilt. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

Scott sighed. “No, Stiles. I’m not the one you’re lying to.”

Rubbing wasn’t making the guilt abate. Damn it, Stiles thought, Scott was right.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow on the 6.”

“You have his number,” Scott pointed out. “Why don’t you call him now?”

Stiles paused in stabbing at the browning meat. “Because I don’t want to lose him just yet,” he said. “I finally talked to him and he didn’t seem scared of my ‘creepiness’ as you put it. I know, relationships based on subterfuge don’t work, but I at least wanted to get to the point where my lies would sabotage the relationship.”

“You owe it to Derek, and yourself, not to drag this on any longer.”

“Tomorrow,” Stiles begged. “Please just let me have tonight.”

Scott sighed and nodded. “But _only_ tonight. You _will_ tell him tomorrow that you lied about the fumigation thing, okay?”

“Okay.”

Subdued, Stiles finished making supper, but by the time he sat down with Scott at the cleared table, his appetite had subsisted and he spent more time poking at the noodles on his plate while Scott nearly inhaled three servings. Since it was Scott’s night to do the dishes, Stiles turned in early although he didn’t sleep.

~ * ~

Derek was not on the 6 this morning to work which worried Stiles enough that that he started a half dozen texts to him only to delete each one as he evaluated the overall “creepiness” of it.

Nowhere was it okay to say: _I missed your beautiful smile. Are you okay?_

Around noon, Stiles finally shot off a quick message to Derek.

<<Didn’t see you today. Are you okay?

Much less creepy, Stiles thought.

Derek responded quickly.

>> Fine. Rode with my sister today. See you tonight.

So, Derek would be on the 6 tonight. Stiles went to get lunch from the vending machine two floors down with a light heart.

He returned to a pile of messages from his boss.

Stiles groaned. What she was asking of him would take time—lots of it. If he was lucky, he would be out of here on time. If he wasn’t lucky, which was likely with his boss, he would miss the 6—and Derek—home.

Argent Corp paid well enough to survive with basic amenities, but sometimes Stiles wondered if it was worth the nightmares he had about Kate Argent, his immediate boss.

She was sweet one minute and terrifying the next. Stiles avoided her as much as he could and she still found ways to get to him.

Rumor going around was she’d broken up with her long-time boyfriend and that was why she was acting crazier than usual.

Truthfully, Stiles could not see a difference in how she acted before or after the break up, and when he tried to ask his cubicle mate, a taciturn wallflower named Vernon, he got nowhere.

At least Vernon would help Stiles with Kate’s demands…usually.

Today, when Stiles glanced up, mouth already open, Vernon shook his head.

“Sorry, Stiles,” he said. “I’ve got a date with the wife tonight. I can see if Matt wants to help you?” he offered. Stiles frowned. Matt Daehler wasn’t much better than Kate and Stiles did not want to deal with double the arrogance.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, unsure if he was trying to convince Vernon or himself. Neither of them appeared persuaded, but at least Vernon replaced the desk phone he’d picked up. Stiles reached for the next file on his not-dwindling pile.

“I’ll call to check on you, okay?”

Stiles nodded absently. They still had five hours before quitting time, and if he had no other interruptions—aside from a couple of bathroom breaks—Stiles was confident that he could complete most if not all of the stack.

In the zone, Stiles breezed through the paperwork. Surely Kate only dropped it on him because it was so simple? She was not that nice. She probably just didn’t want to do the work herself. Perk of being the boss.

By the time Vernon clapped him on the shoulder to say goodbye, Stiles had the last file in his out-tray. He shut off his computer, shoved his pens and notebook into his messenger bag, and tugged on his jacket. He caught up to Vernon by the elevators.

“Impressive,” Vernon allowed, one eyebrow higher than the other.

Stiles grinned at him. “It was goddamn amazing, you mean,” he corrected. “Now I can go talk to B.M.”

Vernon stopped moving and grabbed Stiles’ shoulder. “You _actually_ spoke to him?”

Stiles smiled, remembering the way Derek had focused on him last night. Vernon was second on Stiles’ talk-about-his-crush-on-Beautiful-Man-all-day list so of course he would notice any developments on the not-being-a-stalker front.

“Yes, I talked to him.” Vernon held his hand up and Stiles slapped his palm. But then he sobered. “I actually need to apologize to him because of that.”

“He’s not worth your time if he can’t accept you as you are,” Vernon said.

Stiles shook his head. “Sweet, but not what I meant.” He sighed. “I wasn’t truthful with him so now I have to apologize.”

Vernon nodded sagely. “Lying is not how you lay the foundation for a relationship. Obviously, you’re not going to be yourself the first few times but that’s different from actually telling a lie to entrap someone.”

“I feel bad enough already. I don’t need a lecture.” Stiles made a big show of checking his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”

He barely made the platform even sprinting all out. He was pleasantly surprised, even with Derek’s earlier text, to see that Derek was in his usual spot. Stiles dropped into the seat next to him and barely restrained from leaning his head on his shoulder.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Derek pulled off his headphones and put them into his backpack.

“So, tomorrow your apartment is being fumigated?” Stiles nodded. “Okay, so you’ll have to get off at my stop tomorrow night. Don’t forget your clothes. My building has a washer and dryer in the basement so you shouldn’t have to bring too many clothes. Also, you shouldn’t need to bring any bedding or linen since I have everything.”

“Sounds like a really good plan,” Stiles said. Derek was ready to do this, which only made Stiles feel even guiltier for the fact that he was lying to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

Derek nodded.

“Why did you ride with your sister this morning?”

Derek frowned. “That’s a personal question.”

“Apologies, man,” Stiles said. “I just missed you this morning. I’m so used to seeing your face that it was jarring to realize it wasn’t there.”

Derek looked almost pleased at Stiles’ confession. It made Stiles’ chest swell with pride at being able to coax a rare change of emotion from the man.

“Your stop,” Derek reminded him a few moments later. “Tomorrow, are you able to take a suitcase with you to your work?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, Stiles.”

“’Night.”

Stiles did not remember the trip home.

Scott, sitting on the couch, a book across his lap, highlighter poised above the page, took one look at Stiles’ face when he unlocked the apartment door and sighed. “You didn’t tell him,” he accused. “Fajitas are in the fridge. Call Derek and tell him that you are lying to him. It’s not as hard as you’re making it out to be.”

“I know,” Stiles said. He slung his bag over the back of a chair and started washing his hands. “I’ll call him after supper, okay?”

Scott nodded and went back to his textbook. “By the way, my lab partner needs to work on a project with me, so we’ll be using the apartment for the next three days.”

“Fine, cool, dandy,” Stiles said, watching the strips of chicken spin in the microwave. “What are you studying this unit?”

“Dissection,” Scott answered distractedly. He highlighted a block of text and then underlined it in pen.

“Oh, gross,” Stiles said, folding his fajita and cramming half of it into his mouth to chew. “So, I’m going to have to be somewhere else while you do your take-home dissections?”

“All dissections will take place at the labs. My partner and I just have to do the write ups. Since she has no inside voice, and the topic is the dissection of dead animals, we can’t exactly go to a library.”

Stiles finished his fajita and immediately started making a new one. “So I could be here if I wanted to listen to you and your partner talk about the things you do to dead bodies. Or I could continue with my plan and spend all that time with Derek.”

“No, Stiles, you promised. You need to tell Derek the truth. The longer you don’t, the worse it’s going to be.”

“Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be as bad as you keep saying. It’s just a little white lie.”

“That’s exactly the attitude that’ll make it worse. A lie is a lie no matter how small to the liar.”

“Whatever.” Stiles set his plate in the sink with the other dishes from tonight. “I need to do something quick and then I’ll do the dishes.”

Scott sighed and turned back to his homework.

Stiles locked his bedroom door behind him, not that he thought Scott would come spy on him. He just wasn’t in the mood for more lectures, especially when Scott was making sense.

Besides, he still needed to pack a few changes of clothes.

He didn’t want to use his suitcase and tip off Scott. Maybe a duffle bag? He had one left over from when he moved out of his father’s apartment three years ago.

It somehow got buried in the bottom of his closet under clothing he either outgrew or just didn’t wear anymore since Argent Corp had a strict dress code.

Stiles managed to cram a week’s worth of underwear, button-downs, slacks, and socks into the battered bag. It smelled like old socks, so he hoped his clothes would be okay.

It wasn’t like they would spend all that much time in the bag and Derek had said something about laundry being included at his apartment.

In the middle of his musing, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. Stiles fumbled it out of his pocket and unlocked it.

It was probably just Scott reminding him about the dishes he still had to do.

Instead, once Stiles input the proper code on his third try, he saw the message was from Derek.

>>Can you come check my apartment? I swear I’m being watched again.

Stiles cocked his head. What an odd request. He didn’t even know where Derek lived yet. How could he go look for imaginary stalkers?

His thumb hovered over the reply button as he weighed his options: offer his help and then get lost because he didn’t know where he was going or offer his help and ask for the address ahead of time.

Before he could make the admittedly easy decision, his phone buzzed again. Another text from Derek.

>>Sorry to bother you. I meant to send that to one of my friends. Have a good night and see you tomorrow.

<<Wait, what’s going on? Is there anything I can do to help?

Stiles waited almost ten minutes before sighing and setting his phone aside. It appeared Derek wasn’t going to respond anytime soon. Stiles still needed to do the dishes and make sure none of his embarrassing possessions were left out where Scott’s lab partner could find them.

It wasn’t until he was returning to his room hours later to actually go to sleep that he checked his phone.

>>Thank you, but no. I’ll explain tomorrow.

Sent thirty minutes prior. Stiles debated sending a text to acknowledge Derek’s final response, but it was already after midnight, and Derek  had probably already gone to sleep. Nothing to do but join the ranks.

Stiles set his alarm and crawled under the covers.

~ * ~

Scott had to leave early for his lab, and Stiles managed to stay in his room until the front door shut behind him.

He had to race to be ready for the 6, but it was so worth it when he collapsed into the empty seat next to Derek, his duffle bag on his feet.

Derek paused his music and lowered his headphones.

Stiles was puzzled. Derek never stopped his music, not even when he texted.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Derek said. “I’d meant to send that to my sister but when I selected her name from my contacts, I must have hit your name by mistake.”

“Do you often feel watched?” From Derek’s expression, that wasn’t a question he expected Stiles to ask.

“At least once a week.” Derek shrugged. “Sometimes I see a shadow lurking on my fire escape or my balcony, and sometimes I think I imagined it all.”

“Just often enough to make you paranoid, huh?” Stiles could not imagine going through life terrified of shadows that may or may not actually be there. He would guess though that the sister Derek texted would check for him.

“I guess,” Derek mumbled. “Everyone pretends to believe me, but I can see that they don’t really. It’s only when I can’t convince myself that the shadow isn’t real that I call anyone.”

“You can call me,” Stiles blurted. “I mean, whenever you think you’re being watched, whether you feel it’s real or not, just text, call, whatever, and I’ll come look for you. We don’t live too far apart, do we?”

“My stop is right after yours,” Derek said. “I think, maybe ten minute on foot?”

“So, not too far for me to come check on you.”

Derek nodded, his cheeks coloring. Embarrassed?

“Yeah, dude, I can totally do that. No worries. Peace of mind is amazing.”

“This is your stop,” Derek said, and Stiles looked up. Yep. Time to go. He hefted his duffle bag to his shoulder.

“I’ll see you after work,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly, but Stiles was already stepping toward the exit and chalked the words up to his imagination.

At his desk, Stiles was dismayed to note that the previously empty intake tray was full and overflowing and Vernon’s chair was empty. Stiles recalled he had said something about a relative’s birthday. Possibly his sister?

Without Vernon’s help, Stiles knew he would be lucky if he didn’t miss the 6. Stiles sighed, stashing his duffle under his desk. Then he went to punch in.

While he waited for the time clock to give back his card, Stiles plotted a way to get the work done before Kate either gave him more or he ran out of time.

Bt the time he was back at his desk, he had a strategy in place. And until lunch, it worked. Just before Stiles stopped to dig a couple of dollars for the crappy vending machine two floors down, Kate breezed into his cubicle/office and slammed a stack of files onto his keyboard.

“I’m going on an extended lunch break today,” she announced. “You can handle a little extra work, can’t you?” She batted her eyelashes at him. Stiles clenched his teeth. Once upon a time when he was hired almost three months ago, her “flirting” might have worked on him—there was a reason he and Vernon were Kate’s glorified secretaries. Now, though, stiles was tired of jumping when Kate refused to tell them how high they were supposed to go.

“I’ll add them to your pile,” Kate said pleasantly despite the way her smile never reached her eyes and she always seemed cold and detached.

A beautiful person who knew what she was. It should have been attractive—and it was, at first—the confidence she exuded. But, shortly after Stiles started at Argent Corp, he and Scott moved to their current apartment, and Stiles was forced to ride the train to work. He’d happened to glance up from a statistic report that was making him cross-eyed. Kate needed it for a meeting the next day and had handed it to him on his way out.

When he took a needed break, his gaze landed on the most beautiful man in New York City, nay the world. (Scott had ironically hummed the wedding march when Stiles told him all about the face, eyes, and hands of his future husband. Stiles unironically committed it to memory.)

Kate lost most if not all of her appeal in the first week Stiles knew of Derek’s existence.

Now, Stiles had an almost date and Kate was unintentionally doing everything she could to ruin it.

“Sure thing, boss,” he made himself  say, but he was a beat too late and a little too flat.

Kate eyed him sharply. “If you need more work, you should have told me,” she said.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m a little worried about my apartment—they’re fumigating it so I have nowhere to go this week. I’m sorry that I  am letting it affect my attitude. I’ll try to do better.”

“See that you do.”

Kate traipsed off to lunch while Stiles frowned at his monitor.

After a few minutes spent wallowing, Stiles tucked away his money and reached for the first new file.

Hours later, everything was done. Stiles had barely taken any breaks, and his missed lunch meant that his stomach was currently trying to digest itself, but he had just enough time to grab his duffle bag and punch out.

He still had to run to catch the 6, but Derek had saved him a seat, and smiled warmly when Stiles, sawing air like he’d been running a marathon instead of five blocks, dropped down next to him.

“So,” Derek said. His headphones were nowhere to be seen.

“Your stop is the one after mine?” Stiles prompted.

“Yeah. I only have a one-bedroom apartment, so one of us will have to sleep on the couch. It’s a comfortable couch,” Derek hurried to add.

“Spoken like someone who’s had to sleep on it often,” Stiles laughed.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Derek ducked his head to hide the miserable look on his face.

“Not by choice, I take it.”

“It’s my apartment. I pay rent. I bought my bed. Why should I give it up whenever I have guests?”

“Sure.”

“Most of my guests play some kind of sympathy card, and I always cave. My couch is comfortable, but…”

“But, you’ve slept on it too many times. No, hey, I get it; I won’t steal your bed from you. I’ll be the perfect guest. You won’t even know I’m there.”

Derek frowned at him. “I really should take the couch—it’s more polite. My sister would yell at me if she found you sleeping there.”

“Does that happen often? Your sister discovering you in your bed while a guest stays on the couch?”

“No. She only comes in when I feel like I’m being watched. I had a friend staying over once and he fell asleep on the couch before I could offer my bed. That night, I thought someone was in the apartment with us and I panicked and called her.”

“Was there?”

“Was there what?”

“Someone in there with you? Did your sister find anyone?”

Derek shook his head. “She looked everywhere but there was no evidence of anything except me not sharing my bed.”

“Well, if you want me to do a sweep of your apartment, I can certainly do that.”

Derek sagged in obvious relief, and Stiles had to wonder just how bad Derek’s paranoia was and whether it was unfounded.

“This is my stop,” Derek said, grabbing his backpack and Stiles’ duffle.

They disembarked with a handful of others, and once they made their way above ground, Stiles stared at all the shops. He counted no less than three restaurants on the near side of the street.

“Come on,” Derek said, already halfway to a grill house with housing above it. “I’m on the third floor.” The staircase to the apartments was in an alcove and the narrow steps made Stiles claustrophobic, imagining a stampede down them in case of emergency.

“What about if there’s a fire?” Stiles huffed as they passed the landing for the units on the second floor.

Derek pointed toward the back of a slim hallway. “There’s a state of the art fire escape on the back. Trust me, I wouldn’t be living here if it wasn’t to code.”

“That’s marginally reassuring.”

Derek did not respond, mostly because they were at his apartment, number 308, and he was busy unlocking the door. Three locks, Stiles noted.

Inside the apartment right by the door was a miniature table with an enormous glass bowl half filled with polished rocks. Derek dropped his keys into it and threw the deadbolt on the door. He waited a beat and then redid at least two of the locks. He waved Stiles forward into the apartment, pointing out the smaller-than-tiny kitchen—barely big enough for the stove, fridge, microwave, and a folding card table with two matching chairs—and the slightly larger living room/dining room combo with the promised comfy couch. One wall was dedicated entirely to a bookshelf, the shelves completely filled with books of all different sizes and colors. Most of the books had a piece of colored paper sticking up from the pages, and Stiles noted a chart with corresponding colors attached to it. He wanted to study it closer, see if it gave more clues to Derek, but his host stepped in front of him and pointed at a couple of closed doors.

“Bathroom is to the left and my bedroom is on the right,” Derek explained. He turned to a large, floor-to-ceiling window on the opposite side of the room from the front door. “The fire escape is attached to the balcony outside.” He twisted open a locking mechanism and slid the window aside, and Stiles realized it was actually a door.

Derek had a metal chair padlocked to the railing and the fire escape did indeed attach to the balcony. Stiles’ shoes made quiet crunches as he walked across the lightly graveled surface. “This is nice,” he said, peering at the neighboring building, a shoe store with more apartments over it, certain that if he reached out far enough, he would be able to touch the rough brick.

“It’s good,” Derek agreed.

“Aside from feeling like you’re being watched?”

“Yeah. Aside from that.”

They went back inside and Derek relocked the door before he pulled a black-out curtain over it. Stiles noticed that he was leaving white prints all over the carpet. Derek cleaned them away by running a cordless vacuum over them. He set the vacuum back behind the couch in the corner and faced Stiles.

“Usually, I cook something simple, do the dishes, write for an hour, and then go to bed. Obviously, you have your own schedule, so you tell me what you want to do.”

“Well, my roommate and I usually take turns cooking and then we either watch TV or work on stuff in our own rooms.”

“Roommate?” Derek asked, and oh shit! That was a bad slip.

“Yeah,” Stiles stammered. “He’s staying with his girlfriend while our apartment is being fumigated. Since my friends group consists of him and his girlfriend, I needed to seek other accommodations.”

“Oh, okay.” And with that, Derek dropped the matter. No third degree. No judging eyebrows. Just a confirmation that broiled salmon and potatoes was acceptable for supper.

It was nice.

~ * ~

Stiles could not fall asleep no matter what he did.

The couch was comfortable, no doubt, but his proximity to Derek (even if Derek was safely locked in his room) meant that both Stiles’ brain and heart were making it impossible to relax.

And Stiles couldn’t even text Scott for support since it was after 10:00 p.m. and Scott usually went to bed early when he had class in the morning.

Even though Derek had all but said, _Mi casa es su casa,_ Stiles still did not think he would appreciate Stiles staying up all night on his laptop.

Stiles sighed, turning onto his side and staring at the sliver of light peeking through the blackout curtain.

Wait. Hadn’t Derek pulled it closed completely?

Stiles couldn’t remember. What he did remember was that Derek had checked and double-checked the sliding door’s lock. Maybe he left the curtain open a little?

Suddenly, something blocked the light. A person-shaped something.

Someone was standing on Derek’s balcony, trying to look into the room beyond.

Stiles slammed his eyes shut, as if the person could even discern him from his reclined position on the couch. Blindly, he groped for his phone. Early morning be damned, Scott was getting a wake up text.

Then, three things happened at once: the person on the balcony began unlocking the sliding door; Stiles’ phone fell into a crack in the couch; and Derek’s door opened.

Stiles held his breath, eyes open and straining. It was so much darker than he’d thought.

Derek approached the couch, phone up to his ear while he swung a baseball bat in his other hand. He had obviously been asleep, hair wildly mussed, a ratty tank top, and black boxer shorts instead of the polo shirt and khakis he’d had on earlier.

“You hear it too?” he whispered, mouth against Stiles’ ear. He nodded, and Derek shoved his phone at him. “It’s Laura.” Derek straightened, hefting the bat.

Stiles fumbled the phone up to his ear.

“Oh, my God. Derek?” a woman hissed. “Derek, answer me, you asshole.”

“Derek is busy,” Stiles whispered. “Someone is breaking in.”

“Oh, my God,” the woman—Laura—repeated. “I’m calling the police.”

The door rattled, the person on the other side succeeding in unlocking it and pushing it open a few inches.

“I’m armed,” Derek said loudly, voice steady for how Stiles could see the bat shaking in his hands.

The door stopped moving.

Then, footsteps running away, crunching over the gravel like Stiles’ had earlier.

Derek tore open the curtain and slammed the door shut, locking it. Through the phone, Laura yelled something, but Stiles had lowered it when the door had opened.

“Did you see?” Stiles asked, thrusting the phone, Laura still shouting, at Derek. Together, they stared out at the balcony.

“No,” Derek said belatedly, “but the shoes…”

“They were loafers, weren’t they? Leather shoes.” The light from the city barely made it onto the balcony. Stiles couldn’t even see Derek’s chair at the edge. “Are you sure the person is gone?”

Derek didn’t answer, too busy listening to Laura on the phone. Stiles sighed and pulled the curtain closed again, making sure it met the wall fully. He sat down on the couch and dug under the cushions until he found his phone. Then, he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, making a hood out of it. He could still feel his heart racing, still hear the sound of the door’s lock being picked—which, wait. Picked? Except, yeah, that’s the only explanation for why it took so long for the person to unlock the door.

“Derek, have you changed your locks recently?”

Derek sank down onto the opposite end of the couch and set his phone down, apparently finished with his conversation with Laura. He frowned, an unhappy crease appearing on his forehead. “Yeah. I change my locks frequently. Maybe every three months? Sometimes sooner if I feel really uncomfortable.”

“Like when your friend was staying over?”

“Yes. I called in sick and had all the locks changed that day.”

“You’d said you thought someone was in the apartment with you then but that they were gone by the time your sister came to check on you.” Stiles paused, letting his realization become Derek’s. The intruder would have woken Derek’s friend with the way they were inefficient at picking locks, as evidenced by their performance tonight, which meant the intruder would have had to have a set of keys to Derek’s apartment. Understanding and shock mixed with fear on Derek’s face.

Stiles asked, “Who has access to your keys?”

“No one. I mean, I work at my parents’ old company with my sister, Laura. Our personal items are kept inside a safe that can only be opened by swiping a keycard and inputting a code. There’s no way someone had access to it, and I know and trust all my coworkers. None of them would do it either.”

“Okay, but it’s worth looking in to. Right now, I think we need to talk to the police. I mean, if you hadn’t heard the door being unlocked…I don’t want to think about it.”

Derek pressed his lips thin. “I’ve been to the police before, with Laura and by myself. Both times, the officer didn’t believe me.”

“I’ve got some clout with the precinct up the street. Why don’t I go with you?”

“Will it change their attitude toward me?”

Stiles frowned. “What attitude have they given you?” Stiles father worked in that precinct as a desk sergeant. He took it personally whenever someone spoke poorly of that precinct.

Derek stared down at his feet, one bare, the other with a droopy sock on, and shrugged. He looked…dejected.

“The last time I talked to them, they accused me of making it all up because no one ever finds any evidence when they come to look.” Derek scowled. “I found footprints outside my door about three months ago. I took pictures and went to the cops. By the time someone came back to look at them, they were gone, cleaned up, and my friend Erica was in my apartment.” He sighed. “The cop with me apologized but he said his hands were tied.”

Derek glanced at the covered door again. “You said the shoes sounded like loafers?”

Stiles nodded, reaching down to grab his own shoes to show Derek. “Like this. A dress shoe. Leather, a loafer.”

“This is not like anything my neighbors wear,” Derek said. “They’re mostly retired. Most of them wear slippers or sneakers.”

“But it’s what I wear for work,” Stiles pointed out. “Which means little in the scheme of things. Just because you don’t see your neighbors’ footwear, it doesn’t mean that they don’t have a pair stashed away in a closet somewhere. A lot of places have dress codes and these shoes require very little physicality to put on.”

“True,” Derek said, “however, most of my neighbors are the kind that live stipend to stipend. A good pair of shoes is out of their budget.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. “But what about their relatives? Any frequent visitors you know about?”

“No.” Derek sighed, head in his hands. “I’m just so tired of this. I just want it to stop. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost six months.”

Now that Derek had mentioned it, Stiles could see how haggard he looked, how his stubble was less of a work of art and more because Derek was probably too tired to shave every day. The bags under his eyes stood out stark against his pale skin.

The most beautiful man in New York still held his title, but it was obvious he needed to rest.

“Come on, let’s go talk to the cops and see if they dismiss you when you have someone who will corroborate your story.”

“You joke now,” Derek said, but he obediently pulled on another sock and his shoes and grabbed pants and a pullover. He checked and double-checked all the windows and doors while Stiles waited patiently.

They walked to the precinct since they were only five blocks away. Stiles kept glancing over his shoulder, almost expecting the shadow from the balcony to be dogging their steps. Even late as it was, there were still people out on the street. Out of habit, Stiles stared at them. No one appeared to be paying them any attention.

The closer they got to the precinct, the tenser Derek appeared. His shoulders were almost touching his ears by the time they walked through the door.

Just Stiles’ luck; his dad was working the front desk. As much as he feared his lies to Derek would be exposed, he knew he could convince his dad to get someone out to Derek’s apartment to look for evidence.

“Stiles,” his dad said, automatically suspicious it would seem. “What are you doing here?”

“Someone tried to break into Derek’s apartment.”

Dad leveled a stern look at Stiles. “Just how do you know Derek Hale, Stiles?”

“We ride the same line,” Derek answered. “His apartment is being fumigated, so I offered him a place to stay.”

Dad turned an unimpressed glare on Stiles. “Fumigated, eh? Maybe I should ask Scott about that.”

“Scott’s spending the night at Allison’s,” Stiles said, straight-faced. “I’m sure it can wait, after all, you know Scott—he never answers his phone unless he really wants to.”

“Stiles.” Dad glared at him.

Stiles shut up and let Derek approach the desk.

Dad sighed, weary and wary. “What can I help you with today, Mr. Hale?”

Stiles bit his tongue hard.

Derek shot him a commiserating glace. “Someone attempted to break into my apartment tonight. I scared them off before they could get in, but I-I’d feel a lot better if someone could check it out.”

With quick, precise words, Derek detailed the break in and the information they had regarding the would-be intruder’s footwear including Derek’s insistence that it couldn’t be his neighbors.

Dad nodded, scribbled notes, and “Mmhmm”ed in all the right places, but Stiles could see the anger and disgust on his face.

Derek shrugged when he finished, his posture screaming that he truly expected not to be believed. Dad looked like Derek was right.

Then, Stiles said, “Dad, I was there too. Someone actually picked the lock on Derek’s door and started coming in.”

Those must have been the magic words because Dad’s face darkened with concern and he added the word “witness” to his notes.

“This could just be a burglar easily dissuaded by someone standing up to them,” Dad said.

“Have you had to do that before?” Stiles asked Derek. “Catch them in the act and tell them that you’re armed?”

“No,” Derek said. “Usually I hide under my bed and text Laura until she comes down to check on me. I couldn’t do that with a guest on my couch, so I grabbed the first weapon I found. I also called my sister.”

“Ah,” Dad said. “And what did Laura have to say?”

“She was going to call the police,” Stiles responded. “Apparently, she knows to trust her brother.”

“Stiles, Derek has reported break-ins at least three times that we have investigated. Not once did we find evidence to back up his claims..”

“Dad, I’m telling you, someone was trying to get into Derek’s apartment.”

“I believe you, but I don’t think this time it’s related to the other attempts.”

“Because they weren’t successful?” Stiles scoffed. “What is it going to take before you take Derek seriously? You and I both know that a pattern has been established. The next step is escalation.”

“We’ll send officers. But, Stiles, if they don’t find anything, Derek will be charged with filing a false report.”

Stiles growled in frustration. No wonder Derek hadn’t wanted to come here. “Fine. Send the officers, but don’t charge Derek if you don’t find anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m filing the report. And if they do find something, then you and everyone in this precinct will owe Derek an apology.”

Dad rolled his eyes but stuck his hand out to shake all the same.

“Do you have somewhere else to stay for the night?”

“We can stay with Laura,” Derek said. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Derek led Stiles back out into the night. They walked in silence for a few blocks before Derek shoved him up a flight of stairs. They climbed past the first three floors before Stiles managed to stop moving.

“Come on,” Derek said irritably when Stiles balked, digging his heels in. “Laura’s expecting us. Besides, it’s almost midnight. If you want any sleep at all, you need to move.”

“Oh,” Stiles said stupidly. “I thought you were mad at me and were trying to find a roof to throw me off of.”

The light from the nearby hanging lamp was enough to see by, and Derek paused, a contemplative look on his face. “I might,” he said finally, “if I had a reason to be mad at you.” He stared at Stiles. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you?”

“Uh, no. Nope. None at all.” Stiles squirmed under Derek’s direct gaze.

“Okay.” Derek knocked on the door they were stopped at, and almost immediately it opened.

The woman standing there was gorgeous with long, dark hair curled down to her shoulders. Her eyes were an even hazel and her lips were plump and red, even at this late hour.

All in all, it was like looking at a slightly softer version of Derek if Derek’s eyes could decide on a single color and if he couldn’t grow a beard.

Derek was still the more beautiful of the two, and Stiles held his breath for fear of accidentally revealing that little tidbit.

“What the fuck happened?” The woman, who must be Laura, demanded as she led them into the apartment and to a small red couch with two recliners facing it. She sank into the larger recliner, feet tucked under her. Derek and Stiles took the couch. “Someone broke into your apartment tonight? Are the police going to do anything about it? And who the fuck is this?”

“Laura, this is Stiles. His apartment is being fumigated and he needed a place to stay.”

Laura eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know Derek?” It was reminiscent of his dad earlier, except this time _he_ was the suspect.

“We ride the same line,” Derek said, tiredly. “For about three months now.”

Laura harrumphed. “And where does he work? Why have I never met him?”

“You don’t know everything about me.” Derek glared at her.

“You don’t know where he works, do you?”

“I know where he works,” Derek grumbled. “I just don’t go around telling everyone about it.”

“I don’t either,” Stiles said. He had quickly discovered, by talking to Scott and his dad, that Argent Corp was not a pleasant company to work for morally. If anyone was a villain in this story, it was Argent Corp.

Kate was the definition of greed as she foisted her duties off on Vernon and Stiles while she took extended lunches on the company’s dime.

“Look, it’s late. We all have work in the morning. Can we please just get some sleep?”

“Call in sick,” Laura said. “I’m sure the police will want to speak with you anyway.”

“That’s fine and dandy,” Stiles said, “for Derek. You realize that I can’t miss work for any reason other than illness, right? Company policy.”

“That’s horrible,” Derek said. “No company should be able to do that.”

“Well, Argent Corp would probably still do it if it was illegal.” Stiles checked his watch, groaning when he saw that it was almost half past midnight. “It’s really late. We’re all too tired for this. Can we please talk about this tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Laura pointed at him. “Stiles, you can have the guest room. Derek, you get my couch.” Laura left them in the living room, shutting her door with more force than necessary.

“Um, I can take the couch,” Stiles offered. Either way, the one sleeping here would have to be folded almost in half to fit.

Derek shook his head, his lips curling into a half smirk. “No. If Laura checks on me at all tonight, she’ll have a shit-fit if I’m not on the couch. Besides, the couch is really uncomfortable. Laura can deal with me being grumpy tomorrow.”

“Is Laura going to drive you to work if you don’t take off sick?”

“Probably. She’ll also probably offer you a ride too. Argent Corp is literally right up the street from us.”

“Dude, that would be awesome. Do you know how long it’s been since I haven’t had to ride the 6 home?”

“A long time,” Derek said, smiling fully at him. “At least three months.”

Stiles’ heart stopped for a few beats (or so it felt) at the sight of the glorious gaze directed all at him. Then, Derek yawned, and his eyes squinted shut while his tongue poked out. It was fucking adorable, and Stiles’ heart tripped painfully to remind him that he was staring.

“Good night, Stiles,” Derek said, shooing him toward the door next to Laura’s room.

“Good night, Derek,” Stiles replied softly. He wasn’t sure how he was expected to sleep now when he had the image of Derek smiling and yawning stuck in his brain, but maybe he could manage it.

Apparently, all he needed to do was kick off his shoes, check the alarm on his phone, and crawl onto the bed before he was snoring, visions of Derek dancing across his dreams all night.

~ * ~

Derek shook Stiles awake way too early for him to actually be functioning.

“All your clothes are still at my apartment,” Derek said. His breath was minty from his toothpaste and he was freshly showered. His hair was still wet, and it dripped onto Stiles’ face as Derek leaned over him. Stiles blinked, grinning weakly and trying not to breathe his nasty morning-breath onto Derek’s handsome self.

“The cops are meeting us there in an hour. I could loan you an outfit for today. Do you need to shave? I think Laura has a spare toothbrush somewhere. I’ve got some razors in my travel bag. Come on.” Derek tugged Stiles upright and shoved him out into the hallway, turning him to a door behind which Stiles was sure he’d find the bathroom.

“Why am I moving if we don’t have to be anywhere for an hour?”

“Because when Laura gets up, she takes forever. If you want a shower today, then you’ve got to move. I’ll find you some clothes and toiletries.”

Derek left him alone, disappearing back into the guest room.

Stiles shrugged, rubbing at one eye and yawning widely. Then, he opened the bathroom door. It was still warm inside from Derek’s shower, the mirror fogged over except for a small patch that Derek had wiped.

It felt nice, creepy like he was stalking Derek into his most private center (his brain helpfully supplied that Derek had been _naked_ in here just a moment ago), but it was still nice.

The room smelled good, like aftershave even though it didn’t look like Derek had shaved.

Stiles wondered, almost in a fugue state, if he would have to borrow it. His beard was not the most impressive or the easiest to grow, but dress code required a clean shave of everyone except one of the co-owners—Chris Argent.

Unlike his sister, Chris actually pulled his weight…when he was at the company.

Chris was the international face of Argent Corp only because Kate pissed off their contacts with her attitude. Which reminded Stiles that he still had work today.

Great. Stiles would have to deal with his boss today. His heart sank.

Today had started so well. He’d been woken by the man of his dreams, literally. He would get to wear his clothes and use his shampoo and his aftershave.

But, now, his mood was sour.

Kate Argent was a troll. Stiles couldn’t stand working for her. He wasn’t sure how Vernon could tolerate it, and he’d been there longer than Stiles.

Stiles was ready to quit most days, and he’d only been there for three months now. Vernon had been there for three years.

Derek knocked on the door. “Are you done already?”

“Uh, no. Not all at.” Stiles opened the door. Derek handed him a white undershirt, royal blue button down, and gray slacks. As soon as Stiles accepted the clothes, Derek barged past him to dump an unopened pack of razors, toothbrush still in its packaging, and a narrow black leather belt onto the sink counter.

“Hurry,” he said. “I’m going to brew some coffee. Laura will be up in less than fifteen minutes.”

Stiles blinked and he was gone.

Coffee sounded like motivation.

He shaved while he brushed with a quick detour to relieve himself. The shower took three minutes to soap up—he used the bar stored in a box with “D.H.” etched into the side. It made him feel marginally better about the day he was going to have.

By the time he was dried off—using the fluffy pink towel because the fluffy purple towel was still damp—dressed, the belt a definite necessity, and in the kitchen, Laura was sitting at the table, holding a mug of steaming coffee while Derek fried eggs on the stove.

Stiles found a mug in the second cupboard he opened and filled it halfway before dumping a couple of heaping tablespoons of sugar and a dash of the whole milk on the table in. He claimed the seat across from Laura. She blearily stared at him.

“Why are you still here?”

“Laura!” Derek said, shocked. “Rude!”

She swiveled her blank look to him. “He’s in my house, eating my food, and drinking my coffee.”

“He’s my guest,” Derek said. He thumped a plate of eggs in front of Stiles. “I’ll pay for the resources he uses while he’s here.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Aren’t you always on Derek’s case about treating his guests right? Why do you have a different standard for yourself?”

Laura stared at him with a flat expression. “You’re Derek’s guest, not mine. I don’t have to be nice to an unwanted house guest. For all I know, you’re the one who’s been stalking my brother.”

“Whoa, what?” Stiles stared at her, uncomprehending. “Come again?”

Derek glared at his sister. “I’ve told you about Stiles before,” he said through gritted teeth. “He rides my line.” Derek turned off the stove, dumped the frying pan into the sink, dug out his wallet from his back pocket, and dropped a couple of twenties onto Laura’s lap. “We’re leaving now,’ he said in a tone that kept Laura’s mouth shut and almost gave Stiles an inappropriate boner.

Stiles pulled on his socks and shoes while Derek used the bathroom, returning quickly with Stiles’ discarded clothes stuffed into a plastic bag. Laura remained silent the entire time.

“What’s her deal?” Stiles asked as soon as they were out on the street.

Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up every which way. “She liked to look out for me. She’s been doing it since we were kids. It’s just…sometimes it really feels like she doesn’t have my best interest at heart. She’s like that at work. There’s this creepy woman who comes in all the time asking after me. Laura doesn’t think I should be wary of her.”

“Hey, I’m sure that woman is exactly as creepy as you think she is. Have you told the cops about her?”

Derek shook his head. “They already think I’m lying about the intruder in my apartment. They’d just treat me worse if they found out about her.”

Stiles wanted to argue in favor of the police officers, but after his dad’s dismissal of Derek last night, he knew Derek’s point was valid.

“This is my building,” Derek said, steering Stiles toward the front stoop. This whole street looked so different in the gray morning light, and Stiles spun around, watching as the grill house employees scurried about, sweeping the sidewalk and painting the windows with the specials.

Derek cleared his throat, nudging Stiles and drawing his attention back to the stairs. He smiled fondly as Stiles tripped over the first step. “Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, blushing hotly. Derek chuckled, steadying him with a hand to his back, and then he froze.

Stiles’ dad and another officer were standing at the bottom of the last staircase up to Derek’s apartment, shooting the shit and drinking crappy coffee from the shop near the precinct.

“Son, nice of you to join us,” Dad said, enthusiasm forcibly injected into his tone. “Mr. Hale,” he added, decidedly colder.

“Officer,” Derek returned politely if a bit clipped. To be fair, Dad started it. “Shall we?” He led the way up, and Stiles definitely did not check out the way his butt moved, not when his dad was behind him and the other officer, Parrish, was right next to him.

When they crested the stairs, they all froze. The door to 308 stood wide open. Stiles very distinctly recalled Derek locking it behind them when they walked down to his dad’s precinct.

“Step back,” Dad ordered. “Stay here.” He and Parrish entered, guns drawn. Derek slumped against the wall, shaking his head and rocking slightly. Stiles put his hand on his arm, surprised when Derek latched onto him.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, “it’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t,” Derek returned, around a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “My apartment was broken into—it’s obvious it’s been done before. I could have died because of the police’s refusal to take me seriously.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said because Derek had a point and deserved to hear those words. What would have happened last night if Stiles hadn’t been there and Derek hadn’t grabbed his bat? Would hiding under his bed have saved him or would his luck have run out?

Stiles was definitely submitting a complaint, his dad be damned. They had failed to serve and protect.

Parrish poked his head out of the apartment. “It’s all clear. No one’s in here. We need you to look around and make sure nothing is missing.”

“You should come too,” Derek told Stiles. “We left your bag here when we went to my sister’s.”

“Shit, my laptop!” Stiles exclaimed. What if whoever broke in stole his stuff too?

Derek looked stricken. “I’m sorry. I’ll replace it if it’s gone. I mean, I know it’s not the same thing, but at least you won’t be out a computer.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “Dude, it’s not your fault if it’s gone. Don’t worry about it.”

“How about we check to make sure nothing’s missing?” Parrish prompted, staring pointedly at them.

“No, yeah, sure,” Stiles said. “After you.” He waved Derek forward.

Parrish rolled his eyes and stomped back into the apartment.

“So,” Dad said when Derek and Stiles stepped into the living room. “Anything gone?”

To Stiles’ unfamiliar eye, nothing appeared out of place. Even the blanket Stiles had used last night was still folded neatly on the arm of the couch.

Derek looked around, shaking his head. “There’s something off,” he said. “I can’t quite…” He stopped in front of his cordless vacuum, leaning against the wall by his bedroom door. “I didn’t leave this here,” he said. He pointed to the corner blocked off by his couch. “I store it there. I _know_ I put it there last night.”

Dad and Parrish looked at Stiles. “Uh, yeah he did.” They didn’t appear convinced. “No, really,” he said, annoyed. “He showed me the balcony last night. I noticed the tracks I was making, and Derek used his vacuum to clean them up. He definitely put it away.”

“And ‘away’ isn’t where it currently is?” Dad asked.

“No,” Derek said. He sounded upset, like hysteria was bubbling just below the surface. Dad and Parrish must have heard it too because they exchanged a glance where they all but rolled their eyes at him.

“Hey, if he says it’s been moved, shouldn’t you believe him?”

“Stiles,” Dad sighed. “We _do_ believe him.”

“But?” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“But look around. Do you see anything else out of place?”

“I don’t know the layout well enough to know if something’s missing or moved. You know who does though? Derek. Need I remind you that the front door was wide open?” Neither his dad nor Parrish looked contrite. “What?” Stiles demanded. “What are you thinking?”

Derek glanced up from where he was checking his impressive book collection. “You think I forgot to lock the door or close it last night,” he said. “Incredible. Just incredible.” He turned to Stiles. “Do you see why I didn’t want to involve them? All they do is belittle me or outright ignore me. One of these days I’m going to end up dead, and the police will just write it off because it’s me.”

“You’re not going to die,” Dad snapped. “It’s all in your head.”

“That shadow last night wasn’t in _my_ head,” Stiles objected. “God, do you dismiss everything Derek tells you?”

“Stiles, one time is an occurrence. Two times is a coincidence.”

“And three is a goddamn pattern. What’s your point?”

“Son, this is the fifth time we’ve been called out to this apartment only to not find any evidence of this intruder.”

“So, what, that’s it? You think he’s lying again when his front door was wide open and his vacuum cleaner was moved? Dad, please, someone has been here. I’m telling you.”

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But, Stiles, if we find no evidence again today, then we’re going to stop responding. We can’t keep wasting time like this.”

“Ensuring the safety of a citizen is now ‘wasting’ time. Wow.” Stiles laughed bitterly. “No wonder you really didn’t want to go to the police,” he said to Derek.

Derek shrugged, heading for his bedroom, Parrish following him. Stiles found his duffle bag and sorted through it quickly. Everything was there.

Derek and Parrish returned.

“Okay,” Parrish said. “The only thing missing is the opened bottle of cologne Derek’s been using. Everything else appears to be in order.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dad groaned. “Cologne? Opened cologne?” He turned to Derek. “Son, you’ve either got an escalating stalker or a stupid thief.”

“My money’s on the stalker,” Stiles said.

“You don’t get a say,” Dad told him. To Derek he said, “You should probably invest in some heavier locks, maybe more than one deadbolt or something. I wouldn’t worry too much about that right now.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Derek asked, incredulous. “Someone broke into my apartment and stole something that is a personal item and you think I shouldn’t worry about it?” He glared at Dad and Parrish. “You just said that it was either an escalating stalker or a stupid thief. Even the stupidest thief has no use for a ten dollar bottle of used cologne.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Dad said. “I just meant that this person likely won’t be back soon. I’d still change all the locks and add in those extra deadbolts. Also, a broom handle placed in the sliding door’s track should be a helpful deterrent.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Derek said. He sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to stay here any longer, but I can’t move in with Laura. Not again.”

Stiles was inclined to agree. While Laura was probably a nice person, last night had revealed her to be a bit abrasive. The stories Derek had told hadn’t endeared her to Stiles either. She seemed to hold Derek to a different standard of behavior, and if Derek would move back in, he would lose his refuge from her.

Stiles did not know what to say. The obvious answer was to tell Derek to suck it up and move in with Laura, under someone’s thumb but alive. A second answer was to have Derek move in with Stiles—after the fumigation was complete of course. But, that meant Scott would have to move in with Allison, who lived too far from Scott’s campus.

“You’re going to miss your train,” Derek said, startling Stiles.

He checked his watch. Derek was right. Stiles had fifteen minutes to get down to the platform. He didn’t want to leave Derek alone with the police even if one of them was his own father.

“I’ll see you after work, okay?” he said, grabbing his messenger bag and making sure it was okay with Parrish to take with him.

Then, Stiles was out the door, down the stairs, and running for the train. He made it with a few seconds to spare.

~ * ~

Stiles dug through his pockets until he scrounged up enough change to get the cheese puffs and a chocolate bar. He carried his spoils back to his desk and started typing Kate’s reports. She had left another stack of them for him before disappearing for an extended lunch again.

Halfway done, Stiles took a quick break to wash the orange powder off his fingers and take a leak. By the time he got back to his desk, he’d been gone for maybe five minutes and he had a message on his office phone.

It was from Kate.

She sounded pissed off, snapping the words, “Call me,” before the message terminated. Stiles sighed. If Kate was in a bad mood, then he wouldn’t get to go home—or in this case, go back to Derek’s home—until late.

That was just fantastic. Stiles growled under his breath and pulled out his company directory, running his finger down the names until he found “Kate-cell” and dialed the corresponding number. Kate picked up after the second ring.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Enforced break,” Stiles lied easily. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to look up a number for me. _Hale Antiquities_. The owner changed the number on the storefront because this one isn’t working.”

“Sure.” Stiles pulled up a browser on his work computer and typed “Hale Antiquities-plus-New York.” The top result was a business a few streets away from Argent Corp. Stiles read off the number listed and then clicked on the link.

His first thought was “Someone likes 90s themed graphics,” as he moved the edited cursor and little twinkles followed its path like the afterglow of a sparkler. His second thought was no kinder because the tab was playing music, some god-awful sad song about losing love. He muted his computer and then clicked on the staff button.

Somehow, he’d missed the connection and it was a total shock to see Derek’s unsmiling mug at the top of the page under management, his name in multicolored text below.

“Stilinski!” Kate shouted, probably not for the first time.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, insincerely. “I was just finishing up those reports you wanted me to do.”

“Good. Now find me a phone number that actually works.”

“Yes, boss.” Stiles went back to _Hale Antiquities_ ’ homepage and scrolled to the bottom where most contact links were stored. He was not disappointed and clicked on the proper link only for it to take him to a page with a series of numbers, all with a northern California area code.

Obediently, he passed along the one listed as the head office to Kate. She hung up without any further communication, which was just fine by Stiles. He creeped on the website for a few more minutes, reading bios (apparently, there were more employees at the California locations but the New York office was more successful because it had Derek). Almost subconsciously, Stiles copied Derek’s bio (picture and information) into his personal email and sent it to himself. Then, he closed the browser and immersed himself in Kate’s reports.

He had just finished the last one when Kate walked in. She looked furious as she stomped past his desk to her office. Stiles put his head down and kept working. If he got these files done and Kate didn’t give him more reports, he would be able to leave a little early. Of course, he could plan his day down to the minute and Kate would still fuck it up.

Stiles submitted his last file, all work complete until tomorrow, when Kate stopped him as he was on his way to take one last bathroom break before he clocked out.

“Tell me more about your fumigation problem,” she demanded.

“Uh, well,” Stiles stammered, off guard. Kate never took an interest in either his or Vernon’s lives. In fact, Stiles would go so far as to say that she encouraged them not to share private details.

“What caused it?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. Nervous sweat rolled down his back, and he suppressed a shudder at the sensation. “There’s this really shady guy on the fifth floor. I think he might have something to do with it.”

Kate scrutinized him so thoroughly, Stiles was surprised that she didn’t whip out a microscope to help her. She must have seen an element of truth to his statement—thank you low-level pot dealer—because she nodded and let him go without further interrogation.

The ride home was uneventful, especially without Derek. Thankfully, Stiles had his internal Scott-voice berating him about his lies. Stiles successfully buried it by pulling out his phone and texting Derek, asking about things with the officers after he’d left.

Before Derek responded, something clicked in Stiles’ head, something so obvious he wondered how he could have missed it this long.

Derek’s creepy woman that would follow him around his store. Kate demanding a working number for _Hale Antiquities_ where Derek worked.

Could Kate be Derek’s creepy woman?

Only one way to be sure.

Derek finally responded to Stiles’ text with an unimpressed text face, and Stiles sent it back to him in commiseration.

Then, he quickly scrolled through his album but he had no pictures of Kate. Bummer.

Well, he was resourceful. He assumed that’s why Kate relied on him so heavily since it sure wasn’t for his personality. Kate had her own profile on the company page. Stiles screenshot it, saving it to his phone for later.

When he looked up, he was at Derek’s stop. A few minutes later, he knocked on Derek’s door.

Derek let him in, and Stiles froze at the sight of Vernon sitting on the couch, a blonde woman leaning against his side.

“My friends,” Derek introduced, pointing at each in turn, “Boyd and Erica.”

“Vernon and I know each other,” Stiles said. “We work together.”

Vernon nodded. “He’s made the past few months more bearable at Argent Corp.”

“Which reminds me, Derek, can you look at a picture for me?” Stiles pulled up Kate’s image. He settled next to Derek on the floor and showed it to him.

Derek took one look at the screen and recoiled. “That’s the woman who keeps bugging me at work.:

“That’s our boss. She had me look up a phone number for you and your sister’s business.”

“Laura closed the store to help me file the police report. No one was there today.”

“Did Laura disconnect the phone?”

“Maybe?” Derek shrugged. “She’s been getting a lot of weird calls lately. She won’t tell me what they say, so I don’t know if they are connected.”

“More than likely,” Vernon chimed in. “If Kate Argent—our boss—has been bothering you at work, it makes sense that she would call. Especially if the store was closed and she couldn’t get in.”

“How long has she been bothering you?” Erica asked. “How long has Laura been getting those calls? Trace it back, find the start, and make an end.”

“Six months,” Derek said. “Six months that woman has been coming to our store to follow me around and ask stupid questions while she flirts at me and makes me uncomfortable.

“Derek, you told me that you haven’t felt safe in six months,” Stiles said. “It can’t be a coincidence that Kate approached you at your work at the same time.”

Erica lifted her head from Vernon’s shoulder. “What happened six months ago?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Derek shrugged. “Kate?” He glanced at Stiles, and he nodded. “Started coming by our store. She always asked for me, and Laura always made me handle her.” He shuddered. “She has this look in her eyes, like you’re a piece of meat that she’s going to tear apart or like you’re there only for her enjoyment.”

He got up, making a circuit of the room, checking all the locks. “There was this one time when I was working with a client, trying to price an item she was going to donate to a museum—something about the price wasn’t right when the museum’s appraisers checked it out. Anyway,” he sat next to Stiles again, “Kate came in. She didn’t interrupt or anything. She was actually kind of polite until the client left. Then she started berating me, telling me that I was supposed to greet every customer, especially the regulars.”

“Where was Laura?” Stiles asked.

“She was helping our younger sister move into her dorm. She’s studying to be a vet at NYU.” Derek looked proud.

“Oh, really? No way!” Stiles grinned, sorting through the album on his phone until he found a picture of Scott, arm around his girlfriend, Allison. “This is my roommate Scott. He’s also a vet student at NYU.”

“He looks like Cora’s lab partner,” Derek remarked, staring intently at Scott’s face.

Stiles froze. Scott and Derek’s sister knew each other? The fumigation lie would never hold up now. If Stiles was smart, he’d grab his duffle bag and book it to his apartment. He had $50 in his wallet for emergencies. He could call a cab so that Derek couldn’t follow him when he realized just how Stiles had tricked him. That was an emergency, right?

But, Stiles had never been smart in love and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Not when he was in the middle of helping his future husband solve one of his stalker problems.

“That’s really cool,” Erica said, startling Stiles at the suddenness of her voice. “It’s a small world, isn’t it? You’re a coworker of my husband’s and your roommate goes to school with Derek’s sister.” She pinned stiles with a stare that stripped him and laid him bare. Stiles had no doubt that she knew about his lies already. Thankfully, she said nothing else.

“How’s Cora liking her studies?” Vernon asked, and Derek’s face lit up.

“She loves it,” he said, just as the door to the balcony shattered.

A figure dressed all in black clothing with a black ski mask over its face stepped into the room and pointed a gun at Derek’s chest.

“With me,” it demanded, voice muffled, almost as if it was trying to disguise its voice. Stiles thought it still sounded familiar, definitely female.

Derek stood up, hands above his head. “What do you want?” he asked.

The figure pointed at him. That confirmed it for Stiles: the masked intruder was Kate Argent. He sent a text to his dad, just the numbers 9-1-1 and Derek’s address. With any luck, the police would be here before Kate coerced Derek away.

Kate must have seen him do it, because she cocked her gun, moving it from Derek to Stiles. “Phone,” she barked, not bothering to disguise her voice. Stiles fumbled his phone, using a sleight of hand trick he’d learned from his dad to remove the battery and conceal it in his sock.

When Kate realized he’d disabled his phone, she threw it against the wall. Good thing SIM cards were more durable now.

“Phones.” She pointed at Vernon and Erica, shaking her hand impatiently when they moved too slowly for her. She smashed their phones too.

Then Derek’s phone rang. Everyone startled at the loud beeps.

“Answer it,” Kate ordered, “but don’t say anything that gives me away.”

Derek nodded and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Laura.”

Stiles leaned back, setting his feet so he could move quickly if needed. As he put his hand behind him for leverage, he encountered an object underneath the couch. It was Derek’s baseball bat.

Stiles curled his fingers around it, pulling it closer to himself.

Kate was watching Derek as he bobbed his head to whatever Laura was saying. Her attention was fully on him as he gestured and twisted his face into various expressions. Stiles knew if he looked too, he’d lose this perfect opportunity.

A shared glance with Erica and Vernon, and Stiles held up three fingers by his knee. Slowly, he folded one down. Then another. Derek seemed aware of their plan, and he moved away from Kate, drawing her attention, making her pivot to follow him.

As soon as they were out of her line of vision, Stiles lowered his last finger.

Erica leaped from the couch onto Kate’s back as Vernon grabbed the hand holding the gun and twisted the wrist.

Kate screamed in pain, lashing out at Vernon and dislodging Erica. Stiles brought the bat down on her shoulders, clubbing her hard enough to knock her flat. Vernon recovered the gun, retreating to the kitchen to unload and disassemble it. Erica and Derek sat on Kate to pin her while Stiles took Derek’s phone and hung up on Laura. Then, he dialed his dad’s cell number from memory.

“Hey, Dad,” he greeted. “ETA?”

“They should be at the front door now,” Dad said, and Stiles went to unlock it. He opened it to find Parrish about to smash it in with a battering ram.

“She’s all yours,” he said, stepping back to let Parrish and the three officers with him past.

From the balcony, another four officers entered. Kate squirmed underneath Erica and Derek. Her mask was still on, and Parrish knelt next to her, gripped the back of it, and tore it free.

To absolutely no one’s surprise—except maybe the officers’—Kate Argent glared at all of them.

Parrish cuffed her, letting a couple of the remaining officers drag her up while Erica joined Vernon in the kitchen and Derek moved to stand next to Stiles.

After collecting evidence and taking all of their statements, Parrish paused in front of Derek. The other officers were busy nailing a heavy tarp over the broken balcony door.

“For the little it’s worth, I’m sorry for the way we handled your case,” Parrish said to the wall just left of Derek’s head. “You were lucky tonight, and it wasn’t because of us.”

Parrish stuck out his hand to each of them, saying, “Good job,” quietly as they all shook his hand.

Once the officers let, Derek offered to call everyone a cab to their destinations. Erica and Vernon took the offer while Stiles declined. He could walk back to his apartment. He would invite Derek too, but he knew he would go to Laura’s.

“Do you have somewhere to stay for the rest of the week?” Derek asked. “You’re welcome to come with to Laura’s, but you might get tired of the not-so-passive aggressive comments she makes.”

Stiles sighed. He’d played the charade too long. Scott was right to admonish him. He should have told the truth from the start. Vernon was also right in telling him that the relationship couldn’t be built on lies.

He picked up his duffle bag. He would have Scott return Derek’s borrowed clothes to him through Derek’s sister. He wouldn’t inflict his presence on Derek any longer.

“Stiles?” Derek watched him with a guarded expression, almost as if he knew that once Stiles walked out that door, he would never see him again.

“I lied,” Stiles said, hand on the doorknob. Derek looked confused. “I lied about needing a place to stay. Truth is, my apartment isn’t being fumigated, which you’ll realize when you talk to your sister because she just spent the day there working with Scott. I lied because I couldn’t just tell you the truth, which is that I am so madly in love with you that I ignored my friends’ advice and my conscience. The truth, Derek, is that I lied to get close to you.”

Stiles left Derek standing in his apartment, shell-shocked and white faced.

He buried his own emotions and hailed a taxi when he made it down to the street.

~ * ~

Scott looked up from his textbook, closed it, and set it aside. “We need to talk,” he said.

Stiles nodded. “But not right now,” he all but begged. “Tomorrow? After I know if I have a job or not?”

Scott bit his lip, a sign that he was torn, before he nodded, picking up his book again. “Tomorrow.”

Stiles went to his room, locked his door behind him, and dropped the duffle bag onto his desk chair. Then, he flopped on his bed, pressing his face into the pillow to muffle the sobs of his broken heart. He only had himself to blame, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Eventually though, he was able to cry himself to sleep.

~ * ~

Scott woke him up by banging on his bedroom door until Stiles threw it open.

Scott eyed him with quiet distaste before saying, “You’re going to be late for your train.”

Stiles’ heart tripped into overdrive, and he mad-dashed his way through a shower and dressing. He made it to the train with seconds to spare, still running on adrenaline.

There was only one seat available when he scanned the rows, and it was just his luck that it was next to Derek. Stiles groaned to himself before sucking it up like the adult he was supposed to be and sitting in the seat.

Surprisingly, Derek’s headphones were nowhere to be seen. Worried, Stiles glanced at him only to find him already staring at him.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about your lies. I need time to process it. I hope you can appreciate that. I’m sorry.”

He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his headphones. The dismissal didn’t hurt as bad as Stiles was expecting it to, so he settled into—not a false sense but rather just _a_ —sense of security.

And then, right as he moved to disembark on his stop, Derek grabbed his arm. “Thank you,” he said. “For telling me.”

Stiles nodded dumbly. What was he supposed to say to that? Derek was acting oddly to Stiles and yet…not. It wasn’t out of character for him to say “Thank you” or to apologize even though Stiles was the one who wronged him. He’d witnessed the behavior a dozen times already just from Derek’s texting.

He was still bewildered when he entered the lobby of Argent Corp and joined a crowd of coworkers. At the head of the group was a bearded man with graying hair and piercing blue eyes. Chris Argent. Stiles wriggled his way closer to hear better. He tried not to be upset about the fact that Vernon saw him and slipped away without a word.

Stiles turned his attention back to Chris. “I know this will be a difficult time,” he was saying. “Our transition will be worth it though. The first order of business will be to assess each of you to see where you best fit. Don’t worry: we are not firing anyone at this time. Mary from Reception will be scheduling the appointments. Don’t forget to talk to her. Thank you and welcome to the new Argent Corp.”

By the time Stiles got to Mary’s desk, the day’s appointments had already been filled. Mary gave him a scrap piece of paper with “226/500” scribbled on it. According to Mary, that meant his assessment would be tomorrow. There were five chief officers evaluating thirty-four people a day until all five hundred employees had been assessed. Stiles hadn’t realized how small this branch of Argent Corp actually was until now.

“What do I do until then?” he asked.

“You go home,” Chris said behind him. When Stiles turned to face him, Chris shrugged. “We have to go over everyone’s assessment before we can place them more effectively. Since you worked in Kate’s office, your material was more sensitive. All the company’s output from this branch has been stopped in order to better perform these assessments. It also means that there is absolutely no production being completed today. Go home, Stiles.”

“You know my name?” Stiles stared at him. He wasn’t even sure _Kate_ had known his name and he’d worked for her for three months.

Chris looked puzzled. “Of course I know your name, Stiles. Your roommate is dating my daughter.”

Stiles wanted to smack himself. _Of course._ Allison _Argent_ was Scott’s girlfriend. Stiles usually checked out of the conversation whenever Scott started listing Allison’s many talents and features. To be fair, Scott had stopped listening to every Derek rant Stiles went on.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Chris said, walking away. Stiles stood there for a few minutes longer, trying to reconcile the fact that a) he still had his job and b) his new boss didn’t seem mad at him for helping get his sister arrested.

Now he just needed to catch the train home. Stiles didn’t even know if the 6 ran this early. It probably did, but Stiles still had enough money for another taxi.

~ * ~

Scott wasn’t home when Stiles got back, so he spent time sorting his clothes, putting the outfits he’d taken with him to Derek’s back in his closet. He washed and dried Derek’s borrowed clothing, folding them neatly (four years at a department store meant he still could do all the folds in his sleep) and stashing them in a plastic grocery bag. Then, he took a nap, an alarm set to wake him up when Scott would be back from class.

Scott woke him up before it went off.

“You’re back early,” Scott said. “Is that a good thing?”

“It is, yeah. Chris Argent is taking over for now, and he’s meeting with everyone to assess where they’ll fit with new management.”

“That is good.” Scott handed him a bowl of rice and chicken. “Can we talk about Derek now?”

Stiles stalled by take a small bite. Scott waited him out. “Fine.” Stiles set the bowl aside. “You were right: I shouldn’t have lied to him. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I’d have preferred if you hadn’t lied to him at all.” Scott sat on the bed next to him. “Are you going to try to apologize to him?”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Stiles said. At Scott’s disbelieving look, he added, “He asked for some time to process it.”

“Understandable,” Scott agreed.

“So, can you do me a favor?” Scott nodded, and Stiles thrust the bag of Derek’s clothes at him. “These are Derek’s. Can you make sure he gets them?”

“Yeah, dude. Of course.” Scott took the bag. “Do you want to talk about it more?”

“Honestly? I just want to be alone. I made a big mistake and I know you’re not saying it, but every time I see you, I can hear the I-told-you-so. I just. I really don’t need it right now.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Scott said, “but if you need me to leave you alone, I will. Please let me know when you don’t need me to leave you alone.”

“Thanks, Scott. You’re a really good friend.”

For some reason, Scott looked guilty when he said, “I try.”

Stiles let it go because at that moment his alarm started ringing, and by the time he’d gotten it shut off, Scott was gone.

Stiles decided they could talk tomorrow after his evaluation and lied down again.

~ * ~

Stiles met with Chris Argent during his appointment. It was not as much of a surprise after yesterday’s conversation. Chris sighed, sorting through a stack of reports. Stiles recognized them as many either he or Vernon had filed on Kate’s behalf.

“In all honesty, this branch of the company only lasted as long as it did because of people like you, Mr. Stilinski,” Chris said. “We’ve reassigned Mr. Boyd to a more suitable position due to his longevity with the company. You, on the other hand, were hired specifically to be a personal assistant. You’re actually due for your ninety day evaluation now. So, my question to you, Mr. Stilinski, is where do you see yourself at this company?”

Stiles stared at him, stunned into silence. He could choose where he wanted to go?

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Can I get onto the paralegal team?” Stiles dug through his messenger bag and pulled out his transcript from college. “I graduated summa cum laude with the preliminaries for pre-law.”

“What happened?”

“I ran out of money,” Stiles said honestly. “I needed a job, but I had no experience in my field, so I interviewed for the personal assistant position.”

Chris hummed, flipping through Stiles’ transcript and the reports. “Your work is nearly impeccable,” he commented. “Mr. Stilinski, since you’ve been invaluable to the company during your short tenure with us, I would like to be the first to offer you an official spot on our paralegal team as we pay for you to attend a law school of your choice.”

“Seriously?” Stiles burst out. “That’s extremely generous of you.”

“Perhaps,” Chris said, “but you’ve done a lot for this company. You’ve worked with sensitive documents with an incredible turnaround. I’ve had clients request to work with this branch because of the quality of work that comes from here.”

“Well, Vernon’s been here longer, and he trained me on how to complete the reports.”

“And Mr. Boyd has been adequately compensated. Mr. Stilinski, this is your compensation. Do not sell yourself short. Own your work with pride.” Chris checked his watch. “Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for today. Go home, get some rest. We’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

They shook hands, and Stiles stepped outside of the office Chris was using. He felt numb, shocked, unable to believe his fortune. To have law school paid for by his employer was a fantastic offer, and he had no doubt that he would take them up on it. Also, joining the paralegal team could result in a raise. Stiles would have more to show for the work he did.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the station that he realized most of his excitement was because he wanted to share the news with Derek.

The reminder that he’d royally fucked that option came with a few visceral pangs in his chest.

The whole ride back to his apartment, Stiles sat in silence, staring at nothing in particular and imagining what he would say to Derek if they were still talking.

Surprisingly, Scott was home when Stiles walked into the living room. He patted the seat next to him, and Stiles sat down, eyeing him suspiciously.

“So there’s, like, no easy way around this,” Scott began. Stiles swallowed hard at the ominous tone he could hear in his friend’s voice. “Allison asked me to move in with her.”

“But that means.” Stiles said and Scott nodded.

“I’m leaving before our lease is up. Allison’s lease _is_ up, so we’re just going to find a place that’s close to her work and my school.”

“It feels like betrayal,” Stiles muttered, and Scott’s face hardened.

“It’s not any more of a betrayal than you lying to a complete stranger just because you are infatuated with his face.”

Subdued, Stiles corrected, “Were.”

“What?”

“Were infatuated. I _was_ in love with Derek’s face, but then I got to know him, and it became more than physical. Now it’s emotional too.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “You’re not in love, Stiles. You’re obsessed. And your obsession nearly got you killed.”

“I know, but it also saved lives. I helped save people, Scott. As bad as it was and is that I lied to Derek, I still saved his life.”

“See? That’s my point! You don’t think you did anything wrong!”

“What do you mean? I _just_ said my lying was bad.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, “but you immediately followed it up with your heroics. You’re justifying the means because of the end result.”

“That’s how things work!” Stiles yelled.

“Maybe in your world,” Scott countered coldly, “but that’s not how it works in the real world.”

Stiles stared at him, hurt beyond words. He knew Scott had a point, but he was tarring him with the same brush as Kate, and that was not true. Stiles had never acted maliciously toward Derek.

Stiles came to a realization that was just as painful as Scott accusing him of being a bad person. Slowly, he said, “I don’t think I want to be near you.” He meant right now, but right now still felt like forever.

Scott nodded. “Likewise. My fall break is coming up. I’m moving then. Until then, we can avoid each other.”

“Deal.” Stiles stood up and marched to his room. Scott had been his friend for years. To lose him was like losing an extremity. To be honest, though, they’d been drifting apart for months now. It didn’t mean it hurt any less.

~ * ~

A few weeks later, they had a routine worked out. Scott would get up first and get ready for class. Then Stiles would wait until he heard the apartment door slam before he hauled ass, scarfing down an unheated toaster pastry and showering at the speed of “I’m late.” He usually had to run to make the train, and his seat was always empty, the other passengers giving him pitying looks as he stared out the window, ignoring the missing person who was supposed to be next to him.

Also missing was his Scott-conscience voice, which was of little relief to him.

Stiles kind of hoped things would stay this calm, even though he knew Scott’s moving out date was coming up.

It was a shock to climb onto the 6 on a Thursday morning and see Derek in his spot, headphones firmly on his ears. Stiles stumbled to his usual seat and sat down.

After the night with Kate, Stiles had assumed Derek had moved in with Laura, at least temporarily. It meant he hadn’t seen Derek at all these past three weeks because Laura would have given him a ride to work. That he was back could only mean that Derek was home.

Stiles wanted to talk to him, share the news about his promotion (share the fact that even Vernon, now known as Boyd, had stopped avoiding him at work), but he knew he had to wait for Derek to make the next move. He owed him that at least.

Derek ignored him the whole ride in.

He ignored him on the ride home too, but that just meant that Stiles could study him uninterrupted.

Derek didn’t look like he was sleeping any better, and he seemed on edge, eyes sliding from passenger to passenger, always skipping over Stiles. A glance at Derek’s phone revealed that he was not listening to music but texting Peter.

Peter kept expressing concern and a desire for Derek to move to California. Derek hadn’t responded yet, but Stiles watched him type, “Maybe I should” a dozen times, deleting it and looking sadder each time.

Stiles wanted to fix it, but he knew he’d only make it worse. It was not a nice feeling, this being right.

Stiles dragged himself off at his stop, making sure not to look back to see if Derek was watching him now.

Scott wasn’t home when Stiles made it through the door. There was a note with Scott’s key attached to it where the couch used to be. Stiles stared at the newly emptied living room for a long moment before he picked up the note.

He crumpled it up and threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

Apparently, Scott wanted to stay friends but needed space all because Stiles had ignored his advice and saved someone’s life. Fuck that. Stiles had better things to do than wait for Scott to deem him worthy of his presence again.

Plus, Stiles had paid for half the couch. Why was Scott entitled to all of it?

Embarrassingly, Stiles felt his throat closing, his eyes watering. It hurt to be discarded like this, by his best friend. The key was the last rivet holding the dam together. With it laying cold in his palm, there was nothing stopping the flood.

It took nearly an hour before the tears petered out. Once they did, Stiles stood up, resolved not to break again.

Just to be sure that Scott was truly gone, he checked Scott’s room, finding it as bare as the living room. The kitchen too was cleared of its usual clutter, and the only dishes in the cupboard were Sties’ mismatched sets from college.

The fridge was fully stocked, another pseudo apology note from Scott attached to the door. Stiles threw it away and then dug out ice cream for supper.

Tomorrow was a new day for moving forward. Tonight was for Stiles and his headache from crying too hard.

Before he made it to his room, there was a timid knock at his front door.

Stiles peered through the peephole, recoiling almost immediately when he realized the person on the other side was Derek.

Derek knocked again. Stiles looked at the ice cream in his hand. He could ignore Derek, go to his room, and eat Rocky Road ice cream all night or he could open the door and find out what Derek was doing here.

Stiles opened the door.

“You answered,” Derek said, surprised. Stiles nodded. “I didn’t think you would. Cora asked Scott and he said you didn’t forgive easily.”

“What do I have to forgive you about?”

“For the way I acted. You stopped Kate. You’re the reason she’s going to jail. And I…I told you to leave me alone.”

“You asked for space,” Stiles said. “That’s not telling me to leave you alone.”

“But how I did it was rude.”

Irrationally, Stiles felt angry at a lot of people including Derek. He shoved the ice cream at Derek, and he took it gingerly. “Come in. If you want to sit we’ll have to go to my room since my roommate took all our furniture when he left.”

“That’s fine,” Derek said, and Stiles whirled on him.

“It’s not fine!” He opened and closed his fists, unable to speak through the rage crawling up his throat. Derek stared at him, waiting. Stiles sighed. “I stalked you. It’s okay to be mad at me.”

“You didn’t stalk me though,” Derek pointed out. “We just happened to ride the same line. Yeah, you looked at me a lot, but I’m used to that. People think they have a right or an obligation to talk to me just because of my face.”

“I did that too,” Stiles confessed. “For the longest time, I called you ‘Beautiful Man’ in my head.”

“In your head,” Derek repeated, smiling at Stiles like he was sharing a secret. Stiles stared at him blankly. “ _Only_ in your head,” Derek clarified. “You never approached me or made me feel uncomfortable. In fact, you were the only one who believed me about the creepy woman at my work.” Softly, he added, “You believed me over your own father.”

Stiles couldn’t speak.

“Yes, you did lie to me about your apartment being fumigated. But, you didn’t lie about Scott or his girlfriend. You didn’t lie to me about helping me.”

Derek sighed. “In the two days we were together—you at my apartment, us at Laura’s, the next morning—was the most memorable and the most emotionally rewarding my life has been in a while.” He paused, focusing on the carton of ice cream he still held. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. I’d like to get to know you better. Also, your friend Scott said you needed a new roommate, and I just cannot stay at my apartment any longer.”

“Scott said I needed a new roommate, and you decided it should be you?”

Derek nodded. “He may have also said that you’d need new furniture. I just so happen to have a comfortable couch and my own bed.”

“I still work for Argent Corp,” Stiles said.

“And I still work for Laura,” Derek countered. “We’d still be on the same train anyway.”

“I don’t like cooking,” Stiles blurted, flushing when Derek raised the ice cream with a knowing look. “Like, at all. I make a lot of pasta dishes.”

“I like cooking, but I only make simple things. Pasta’s good.”

“Are we seriously taking about becoming roommates?” Stiles wondered, a little incredulously. Derek nodded. “You don’t hate me?”

“No.”

“You actually want to live with me?”

“Yes,” Derek said. He sounded a little uncertain, and Stiles asked him if something was wrong. “I like you, Stiles,” Derek said, “but only as a friend. I’m a little afraid that I won’t be able to reciprocate to the level that you need from me.”

Stiles waved the sentiment away. “You are not obligated to return my feelings. I’ll try to limit how much I share them with you so that you won’t have to experience anything you’d rather not.”

“Deal.” Derek handed Stiles the ice cream. “I’ve got this weekend free. I’ll move in then?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, good. See you then.” Derek nodded at Stiles before disappearing out the front door. Stiles locked it again before putting the unopened ice cream away.

Things were going surprisingly well.

Derek didn’t hate him, he’d gotten a promotion, and because he was now on the paralegal team, he got a lunch break. Who knew Argent Corp actually catered lunch for their employees? Certainly not Stiles, who’d spent all three months of his lunches of vending machine food at his desk, finishing Kate’s reports.

Things were definitely looking up.

~ * ~

~ One Year Later ~

Derek was nervous. Well, not really, but yes. He kept reminding himself that he knew Stiles, that they’d shared an apartment for a year now.

He also kept reminding himself that Stiles hadn’t been the only one pining these past twelve months.

He couldn’t explain why he had given Sties a second chance after he’d admitted to being devious in nature. All he knew was that Stiles wasn’t the only one taken in by a pretty face and a beautiful soul.

Tonight, if Derek was being honest, was a long time coming. They both deserved it for their patience and their perseverance.

Tonight was perfect because they were celebrating.

Kate Argent had been sentenced earlier today, Stiles had officially enrolled in law school, and he and Scott were speaking again. And, Derek was now the head of the New York office of _Hale Antiquities_.

If tonight went well, Stiles and he would have one more thing to celebrate because tonight, Derek was planning on asking Stiles if he wanted to formally start dating.

Stiles knocked on the bathroom door, calling, “You okay in there?”

Derek leaned over the sink, studying his reflection in the mirror. He was indeed “okay.”

“I’m fine,” he called back. He could do this. He was ready.

Stiles was sitting on the couch when Derek unlocked the door and walked out. He almost laughed because they were wearing similar outfits, maroon sweaters and black slacks. Surely that was a good sign?

“You don’t look okay,” Stiles said, concern furrowing his brow. “We don’t have to go tonight. It’s just a small get-together anyway.”

“I want to go,” Derek insisted. “Just…not by myself.”

Stiles smiled. “You won’t be by yourself. We’re going together.”

“But that’s just it,” Derek said. “We’re not together.”

Stiles’ smile faltered. “I’m sorry…?”

Derek sighed. This wasn’t going well. “I mean,” he tried again, “that we aren’t together-together and I’d like to be. Together. With you.”

Stiles’ smile returned in greater force. “Derek Hale, are you asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“I’d love to go out with you.”

Derek smiled too. See? Easy.

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> This is not Beta-ed (I did edit it myself before posting). If I forgot to tag for something, please let me know. Thanks and happy reading!
> 
> Also posted [here](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/170881075345/youve-got-your-headphones-on) at my Tumblr.


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